


1781, In Retrospect

by shardsofglass (rayoflight)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, F/M, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:58:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3499322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayoflight/pseuds/shardsofglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written before the airing of Tempus Fugit, so I imagined Abbie's time travel to go slightly differently.  This is about her return home, some time after she disappeared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1781, In Retrospect

Abbie Mills opened her eyes to the stinging brightness of the noon-day sun and immediately shut them again, nursing the feeling of having had her entire being sucked through a funnel. Her body suffering the reverb effect from the jolt of having traversed time.

She sat up slowly and assessed, tried to gain her bearings.  She glanced down at her heavy brown calico dress, which had taken her through so much and briefly touched the bonnet on her head which covered, not her customary straightened waves, but the practical style of two thick heavy braids.

With her hair styled as it was and her face scrubbed and as small as she was, less the hardship many of those of similar coloring had suffered in that time, she had actually passed as a teen in 1781.

She rose to her feet and stared out at the thinnest part of the woods...

_There._

She saw a car. She collapsed to the forest floor and held herself, - shaking in relief.  

The incantation had worked.

She was ho-

_-No!_

She had to be certain. She swiped at her face furiously and got back to her feet. She had made the mistake of allowing disorientation to nearly end her when she was transported back in time. She would not allow it now that she had managed to travel back forward.

She remained cautiously hidden in the woods and followed that familiar road, trudging along to the one known destination she had to get to before all else.  

* * *

**  
**  


She knocked, peeked in, and determined that her fellow Witness was not in the cabin. She had not expected him to be in the middle of the day, especially with her missing.

She felt along the bottom of the left window sill and found a spare key taped on the underside.  She used it to open the door and stepped inside.

His presence was heavy in the air, the distinctive smell of fireplace ash, leather, parchment, and him. The aroma was so vivid she could almost hear his voice, see the nervous jump of his fingers.

She spotted her old faithful laptop on the rustic dining room table and sat before it, opening it, it's screen illuminating.  She keyed in her old password and her familiar home-screen lit up, Fezzik's eternally happy visage staring out at her with "Anybody got a peanut?" captioned beneath.

She moused over the bottom right corner and... _yes!_ It was the correct date.  Almost three whole months since she'd followed Katrina into the time-vortex.  Almost three months since she’d managed to destroy the woman and help Reverend Knapp put Ichabod’s enspelled body in that secret cavern.

She hoped and prayed that she had not unwittingly changed some small but necessary thing in the process.  ...Changing everything about how they met, -existed together in this space in time.

Reverend Knapp and Grace kept her hidden among the people at Fredricks Manor and she learned a few things while there. Though it was a relatively safe place for black people in that horrific time, Fredricks’ Manor had it’s share of hazards to avoid… Jealous, racist neighbors, and even a few spies working to undo the good work there, -some of them even black.  

She had to learn to be as small as her physical self, invisible, and only just useful enough, lest she draw attention for burning bright while being brown and female.  Grace explained well what was still true to a degree in her own time, -whites are especially threatened by negroes who think well of themselves, especially when its clear that their abilities outstrip their own.  

It had been Reverend Knapp, Grace Dixon and Mr. Fredrick himself,  who combined their powers to send Abbie to the proper time, in both body and soul.

Abbie was thinking about finally getting out of that scratchy dress and into modern clothes, when she heard the click and his low voice…

“Arise from your perch madam, slowly… Do not hide your hands.”

“Crane.” she said, doing as she was told.

There was a startled intake of air and the weapon clattered to the floor.

He took one wobbly step from the shadows and just stared at her as if she were an apparition, as if his eyes were playing a cruel trick.

He staggered towards her, but stopped short. Caution taking hold. He shook his head and held up his finger as if to ward her off.  

Abbie was shocked by his appearance, the circles under his eyes, he looked like a weathered scarecrow. She quickly got her bearings though and spoke.

“Caroline made those clothes you’re wearing and you do a great Ike Turner...Thankfully, only the singing part.” Abbie said with a slow grin.

She stepped closer to him, looking so young and vulnerable in that over-large dress, her face scrubbed clean of her usual cosmetics, but it was definitely her face, her voice, it really was her.

“The last fistbump we shared, ended when you did this.” and she made the exploding motion with her hand.

“...After we managed to stop Katrina from giving birth to Moloch.”

At that his expression crumbled.  He dropped to his knees and wound long arms around her waist, pulling her body into his bony frame, and buried his face against her chest.

“Abbie! ...Abbie.” His words were muffled, but the sentiment was clear. He was complete again.

He had always been naturally thin, but he clearly had not been eating well.  He was positively gaunt. He let out a held breath and gazed up at her with shining eyes, still not quite believing the truth of her return. He reached a tentative hand up and cupped her cheek.

“I thought-.”  He shivered and closed his eyes deliberately before opening them again.  

“Are you unharmed? Did anyone?-”

Abbie shook her head.  “I got help at Fredericks' Manor…  I avoided most of the hazards of your day, Crane.”

She paused briefly, carefully measuring her next words.

“Katrina is dead. There was no other way.  I’m sorry.”

He chuffed and merely resumed his embrace, clinging to her tighter, his fingers tracing the familiar shape of her, even in her constricting bodice. He inhaled her scent as if reminding himself of every aspect her that could not possibly be fully replicated in his mind in her absence, not even with his eidetic memory. She smelled of his time, of cheap cotton, horses, pot ash and thankfully _her_.

“I knew it. I knew that you'd manage. That you’d be resourceful, that you would find a way… You’re alive! You’re really here -. You’re returned to me. -- _Thank you._ ”

He let out a quiet sob, his shoulders hitching as the front of her dress dampened where his face pressed against her. He held and squeezed her small frame to the point of near discomfort.

Abbie smiled as she held his head firmly in place, missing his contact as much as he did hers. As wonderful as it was getting to know Grace, not having Ichabod was like missing a limb, or several. Her heart had hurt, weighed down by the lack of him.  

He leaned back and gazed up at her, his eyes filled with the heavy familiar emotion that both knew hung between them but neither dare acknowledge.

It was startling and comforting all at once. That old instinct flared up, the one that marks any sign of deeper attachment as like that of prey catching the scent of a predator.  It made her skittish. It made her want to bolt.

“I missed you too, Crane.”  she whispered and cradled his face briefly.

He began to lean in, his brow furrowing into a gently pleading frown that said _please accept this...I won’t leave you. I’m here for you. I’m always here for you._

She looked away and carefully peeled his arms from her body.

He stood then and just looked at her, his head tipping to the side, his hands flexing at his thighs instead of doing what he so longed to do, pull her against him and prevent her from running, from ever being snatched from his side again. But he rightly assessed her current state of being.  The way she folded her arms protectively across herself.  

-Those old walls were up, firmly locked, and the key stashed away.

He backed away.

“You must wish to get cleaned up. Your overnight bag is still here, where you left it.  I shall inform Miss Jenny if you like. I apologize that she isn’t within easy physical reach at the moment.

She’s across the Canadian border attempting to retrieve an ancient talisman, which is supposed to breach space and time...No longer needed, of course.” he barked out a harsh laugh.

“I shall make you tea.”

She nodded.

“I’ll call her myself, if you have your phone.”

“Ah yes!  Of course.”  

He dipped his hand into his coat pocket and retrieved his phone.  After connecting with Jenny, he handed the phone to Abbie.

Ichabod watched her face change as she spoke to her sister, the happy thankful chatter and the wide smile as Jenny squealed into the receiver. She trudged over to the spare room, the one she used whenever she worked late at the cabin and needed to sleep and pulled the door half-closed behind her while she continued to talk.

He imagined that with Grace,  there were many things that she wanted to share with her sister of the only other relative they’d managed to connect with, besides the ghost of their mother.

* * *

Ichabod poured boiling water through the sieve into the plain tin teapot, watching the liquid stain a rosy brown.  He sat it upon the kitchen table and went about building up a fire.

His body gave a delightful little shiver as he once again allowed himself to absorb the fact that Abbie was back with him, where she should always be.

He was amazed that she still managed to be so Abbie, even ensconced in those confining clothes from his own time period. Her head held high and her movements still the comfortable quiet amble of the only lady lieutenant he’d known.

His treacherous brain caught and held the thought of peeling it from her body, of taking her while she wore her underthings with his hands tangled in the laces of her corset-bound breasts and he balled up his fists at the realization that his body was reacting.

Ordinarily, he would feel some measure of guilt at this thought, but he had lately had a strange clarity of many things past, that only hindsight and distance can grant.  He had felt guilt for merely thinking on Abbie beyond their friendship, and yet his wife (now deceased, he reminded himself), had lied and manipulated him countless times, without ever feeling the same.  ...And in all that time, Abbie had remained patient with him, ever faithful and attentive through-out his obsessive self-focus, and the many dangers she and the world endured on behalf of his tainted family legacy…

He did not deserve her, but he could not give her up ever again.

He loved her to the very marrow of his bones, to the furthest hidden depths of his soul.  He had not known so complete and total a love in his entire existence, had diligently ignored the truth of it, until she was snatched from his life.  

He had wanted what he felt for Abbie _so badly_ with Katrina, that he thought he could will it to be so, but it was not to be.  Time and distance does not prove love nor commitment.

Actions do.

So easy and simple a truth. And yet it had alluded him, nay - _he_ had alluded _it_.

In Katrina’s absence he had missed her face, the fact of their shared space, the labels, the routine, the duties that they had taken on as husband and wife in his time. It was comfortable. It was what he knew.  He fancied himself and she romantics who had endured so much, even to get to a union and family.

Never had he stopped and considered the fact that the specific  endurances they’d supplanted, and the manner in which they had, prefaced no real love match in history.

He had been so stupid.

In Abbie’s absence he relived his own personal hell of the many times he had taken their friendship for granted, over and over, cringing in his mind’s eye at the vivid memories.

Redrawing the map.  Walking away from her in purgatory, while his wife -having left her with ease-, walked out beside him and proved utterly useless to the task, but yet another burden to take on…

Her demands for comforts her supposed captor had provided her, after Abbie and he had gone to the life-risking trouble to rescue her…

The failure to provide any useful intel for any but their enemies…

The continual push and pull against the true mission to stop the end of mankind, simply because those responsible were related to them even after it was clear that their choices were made.

He relived using Joe Corbin’s possession to sway Abbie to a lost cause.  

Cruel and wrong.

Day after day, barely eating, sleeping, merely existing in a fugue of self-flagellation.  Conjuring all manner of ill-fate that would befall a woman like her in his time of origin.

How stupid and naive he was to romanticize those people, that time to her!

But to dwell now was an exercise in futility.  It was all past. All he could now was show her that he could be worthy of her.  

* * *

**  
**  


“She couldn’t get a fight out this evening, but she’ll be back home, tomorrow.”   

She entered the main room, stretching out her back with an audible crack and yawning widely.

Ichabod turned from his musings at the fireplace and watched her.

“I ordered some Chinese.  I’ll catch you up, properly while we wait for it and drink that tea.” she said.

Her tale was not so devoid of peril as she had made out initially.  She’d had quite a few close calls, not just from Katrina but from the lecherous eyes of white men and even the envious eyes of her own people.

To hear her speak of Grace only made him more aware of the actual distance race and class had been between them.  For all that she had done, attempted to do for his lost family without his knowledge, courtesy of yet more hidden truths from his past “love”....  

He really did not know her. -Couldn’t have known any black people in his day, as he knows Abbie in the here and now, even those he’d known who were free. They had shared none of this.  

It was like having been suddenly cured of red-green colorblindness and finally realizing he had been missing out on with those hues, how they changed the depth of art, nature, the world around him.

He could see just how maddeningly presumptuous of Katrina it was to speak of Grace or any of the residents’ feelings at Fredricks’ Manor, considering all the nuances of pain, drama, despair, and hope that Abbie was now sharing with him.

What must they have thought of them?

He had thought himself a “good man” because he was an abolitionist, but Katrina spoke and he had presumed right along with her, just as well as any slave-owner.

...Had cajoled with many whom he had considered friends.  

…And Abbie, his Abbie could have suffered greatly at their behest.

There was a knock at the door.

Ichabod excused himself and retrieved their newly delivered meal.


End file.
